


Speculum reginae

by a_big_apple



Series: from allegiance side stories [1]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, Knight Pearl, Mild Gender Exploration, Porn with Feelings, Queen Volley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_big_apple/pseuds/a_big_apple
Summary: In which Queen Penelope (Volleyball) and her most faithful knight (Pearl) prepare for their imminent marriage by trying on clothes (and taking them off again).
Relationships: Pearl/Pink Diamond's Original Pearl | Volleyball
Series: from allegiance side stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174388
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Speculum reginae

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is pure indulgence on my part, set in a communal AU from The Reef server. You can read more stories in this AU [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789729)! 
> 
> If you're just here for the spice, you can read this without any prior knowledge! All you need to know is that Volley is called Penelope, the troubles of her life have left her a little frail, and Pearl would definitely definitely die for her.

Pearl shifts her weight minutely from foot to foot. The hall is quiet and dim; the whole castle is quiet and dim, everyone but the Guard already gone to bed. On the opposite side of the doorway Skinny shifts too with a little huff of relief, as though she’s been waiting for Pearl to move first. Pearl resists the urge to sigh. She’s certainly the best of the Guard, but that doesn’t mean the others aren’t perfectly capable.

Then the door creaks behind her, and the reason for Pearl’s attentive watch pokes her pretty brown head out. “Come inside, love, I need your opinion.”

“My Lady,” Pearl murmurs, feeling a blush heating her cheeks. “That really wouldn’t be proper. It’s nearly two o’clock, you should be asleep.”

“I have too much to think about to sleep,” Penelope says, leaning out further and sliding her hand into Pearl’s, “and it’s not improper, you’re my fiance and we need to talk about wedding preparations.”

“But—the door—”

“Sir Skinny can watch the door for a while. Right?” she asks, leaning around the door’s edge. Her hair is down and swings, glossy and soft, around her shoulders; Pearl notices with a deeper blush that the throat of her nightdress is unlaced. 

Skinny smiles slow, looking from Penelope to Pearl with an entirely inappropriate level of amusement, and nods. “Yes, My Lady. You’ll both be perfectly safe.”

“You see?” Penelope coos, sugar-crusted, and tugs at Pearl’s hand. “Now come here please.”

This time Pearl does sigh, and pins Skinny with a look. “The next shift will be here in an hour. You’ll not so much as blink until then.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Penelope hums, pleased, and pulls Pearl inside. “Her name is Siân, you know,” Pearl grumbles, a pointless protest. “Sir Skinny is simply ridiculous.”

“Oh, Pearl, don’t grump. She likes Skinny. More importantly, I’ve been thinking about the wedding.”

“So you said, My Lady,” Pearl replies, letting herself be drawn through the sitting room and into the familiar bedchamber. The chamber, and the bed, that will be hers to share in just a few months. It still seems impossible to believe.

Tonight however, the bed and the table and every other surface are strewn with dresses; the wardrobe in the corner stands with doors thrown open, nearly empty. “We have a fitting in two days with the seamstresses, we must discuss what we’ll wear for the ceremony.”

“Fitting?” Pearl says, taking in the chaos; Penelope begins rearranging and regrouping the strewn gowns, with no system Pearl can discern. “Can’t I just wear my armor? It’s very fine, Bismuth made it herself.”

Penelope pauses. “Oh! Oh...I’m sorry, Pearl. I didn’t even think...of course you can wear your armor if you wish, I just.” She hugs the dress in her hands to her chest, then tosses it onto the bed and takes Pearl’s hands. “I want it to be a day of celebration for you, not duty. I want to lift that weight from your shoulders, if only for a few hours.” With a soft expression she leans close, rests her forehead against Pearl’s; their noses brush. “And I thought perhaps...our subjects could see you, once, as I see you.”

“Womanly?” Pearl asks, starchy in spite of the tempting closeness of her Lady’s mouth. 

Penelope shakes her head. “Breathtaking. Tender.” Her hand cups Pearl’s cheek, slides into her hair. “Human. But I want you to be comfortable, love. That’s most important.”

Their faces are so close Pearl can’t focus to see Penelope’s expression; she gives in to temptation instead, and leans in to taste it with a soft, chaste kiss. “What sort of thing are you imagining?” Pearl asks, cautious. “A gown?”

“I have some suggestions,” Penelope sighs against her mouth. “Try one on for me? If you hate it I promise I won’t ask again.” She kisses her, a slow and dreamy press of parted lips and quiet breath. Pearl closes her eyes.

“Just one. For you, my love.”

“Mmm. Get undressed.”

***

No shortage of kisses later, Pearl is standing chilled and stripped to her braes while Penelope stokes the fire. “I’m sorry, darling, let me just—”

“It’s all right.”

“Well.” Setting the poker aside, Penelope rifles through the destroyed wardrobe. “Aha! Here,” she says, holding out one of her own silky chemises. “This first. Let me find the good stays.” 

Pearl takes the chemise and slips it on, buttery soft against her bare skin. “My Lady, I’ve nothing to hold in. Or lift up.”

“Now now. I love your body,” Penelope replies, muffled with her head in the wardrobe; Pearl feels herself flush again, which at least holds off the chill. “And it’s nothing to do with changing your shape. Think of it as a protective layer. You wouldn’t wear your armor without a gambeson, would you?”

“No,” Pearl admits; it comes out poutier than she intended, and Penelope straightens up to grin at her. 

“Arms up, this one’s mostly laced already.” With gentle efficiency Penelope wriggles the stiff garment down over her head, straightens it around her chest and starts tugging lightly at the lacing in the back. She doesn’t pull it as tight as Pearl feared; as if sensing her crumbling resistance, Penelope dusts a kiss on the back of her neck. “Adjust yourself in the front, there,” she murmurs against Pearl’s bare shoulder. “You want to lift them up, not squash them down.”

“Honestly, My Lady—”

“I could do it for you,” she offers, the words curling warm around the nape of Pearl’s neck; she flushes darker.

“That won’t be necessary.” She really doesn’t have much to adjust, but she can feel Penelope’s eye on her like the heat of the fire. And she has to admit, it is more comfortable to have her nipples slightly less squashed.

With another kiss dropped on her shoulder, Penelope’s touch disappears; she returns with a rustle, coming round in front of Pearl again with a froth of fabric in her hands. “Step in,” she directs, holding the bodice open near the floor; Pearl does, and the heavy confection is pulled up around her. “Arms in here...there you go love...oh.” It’s Penelope’s turn to blush; she smiles, and disappears around the back of her again. “Let me just lace this up back here.”

“I’ve never worn so many laces in my life,” Pearl says, adjusting the sleeves, so long they curve around the heels of her palms. “Doesn’t the neck go any higher? And the shoulders are drooping.”

“They’re meant to be,” Penelope assures her. “You have such lovely shoulders, it would be sinful to cover them.”

Pearl peers down at herself, and fretfully side to side, studying the pale bare skin on display. “But...there’s a scar showing, My Lady.”

“As I said,” Penelope hums, laying a warm kiss against the puckered slice that cuts over her collarbone. “You have beautiful shoulders. Strong. And we both have scars.”

“Poppy,” Pearl pleads, strangled; Penelope’s arms wrap around her waist. 

“You think I’m beautiful, don’t you?”

Pearl’s throat tightens; she leans back into those warm arms, just a little. “Of course I do. More than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Gently Penelope rests her head against Pearl’s shoulder, the ridges of scar tissue pressed to Pearl’s skin. “I know it’s frightening, to let the world see that you can be hurt. That you were hurt. It feels shameful. Like a failure.”

“It’s not,” Pearl replies, immediate, twisting to press her cheek to Penelope’s hair. “My Lady. I’m sorry, I’ve been...insensitive. It’s no failure of yours.”

“Precisely,” Penelope replies, “nor a failure of yours. And it’s not a competition. I love your scars, because they’re a part of you. There’s no inch of you I don’t love.”

Swallowing hard around the thick lump in her throat, Pearl tries to bring a smile to her voice. “Well. I hope somewhat less than every inch of me will be on display at our wedding.”

Gratifyingly, Penelope laughs against her skin. “Give me a chance. Let me finish doing you up, and we’ll have one look in the mirror, that’s all I ask. I won’t force you into anything you don’t want. Not ever, Pearl.”

“I know. I know, love,” she replies, soft; Penelope pulls back again, gives the lacing a little tug.

Pearl allows herself to be further poked and prodded and turned and adjusted without complaint, and Penelope rewards her with soft kisses everywhere her skin is showing; Pearl was chilled before, but now the fire’s roaring and the heavy dress is trapping her own flushed heat against her body with layers of linen and silk and fabric flowers appliqued in blowing swirls around the skirt. It doesn’t feel as...wrong as she expected—but she has plenty of reason to be eager to take it off again.

At last Penelope holds her at arm’s length, looking her up and down with satisfaction, and draws her over to the enormous mirror. She stands aside with a grin, and she looks so pleased and sure that Pearl just has to, out of sheer curiosity, see for herself.

She looks...like herself. She’d thought that she wouldn’t. There’s a fine net of pearls laid over her hair that shine in the firelight, and a string of them at her throat as well; her neck seems so much thinner than she remembers, the slope of her shoulders firm, the barest swell of her chest above the low neckline shocking in its shape. The cream-colored skirt flows out from the bodice in a long, smooth line, none of the pumpkin-shaped fluff Penelope sometimes wears padding out her hips. She turns out her feet one after the other, delicately, to see the slender shape of them in the slippers Penelope picked out for her, excessively embroidered in gold though they’d never show under a skirt so long.

“Pearl,” Penelope sighs, soft and lovestruck. “You look incredible. You’d never know you weren’t born to this.” Her hand falls gently in the curve of Pearl’s lower back. “Just look at how you stand. My beautiful knight.”

She is, somehow. Beautiful. It’s never once mattered before, or even crossed her mind, no matter how many times Penelope tells her. Beauty doesn’t get you anything on a battlefield; beauty doesn’t save you when your armor fails or your sword breaks or you let someone in under your guard. But— 

Pearl turns, carefully, side to side. She doesn’t look out of place at all. She looks like royalty. Like someone worthy of catching Penelope’s eye, someone worthy of the responsibility that will soon be placed in her hands as Penelope’s wife. Is this what Poppy sees? Somehow, a collection of ropy long limbs and scars and a too-big nose and too-red hair have all collected here, in front of this mirror, in her betrothed’s gown, to make her look— 

“What do you think?” Penelope asks, quiet and cautious.

Pearl considers. “I think...something like this would be all right.”

Penelope sucks in a breath. “Really?”

“Maybe a darker color, something not the same shade as my skin. And I want to wear my sword.”

With a squeal Penelope throws herself into Pearl’s arms, peppers her with kisses as she stumbles back to plant herself on the edge of the bed. “Oh, anything you want my love, and I’ll make sure we complement each other, oh stars, how will I keep my hands off you if you look like this all day?”

Pearl laughs, returning her eager kisses, smoothing back her hair with a hand. “I’m afraid that’s trouble of your own making, My Lady, and it’s only persuading me more.”

“You rogue,” Penelope says, heated. “Stars. Just imagine us both, in dresses like this, here in this room for the first time as wives. Here in this bed.”

Pearl can imagine it—she’s unlaced her lover from elaborate gowns and underthings more than once, deliberate and tantalizing, until they’re both wound tighter than lute strings. To have Penelope’s hands on her, undoing her in kind...heat flashes from her face straight down to her belly. “It will be...different, My Lady. Something new, to start our new life.”

With a hum of agreement Penelope takes her mouth, tasting her with almost studious precision; a little shiver zings down Pearl’s spine. “Perhaps we should practice. Can you still see the mirror from here?” Penelope asks against, quiet and close. 

“I’m much more interested in your face, now.” 

That earns her another kiss, this one hot and quick as a sparking flint. “I want you to look at yourself. Don’t look away.” Then Penelope drops to her knees so quickly Pearl thinks for a heartstopping moment she fainted; but before she can even register a sound of concern, her layers of skirts ruck up in a heavy froth as Penelope wriggles beneath them. 

“What are you doing?!”

“I’d think it would be clear,” her betrothed replies, muffled, as warm hands tug her braes down her legs.

“Poppy!” Pearl chokes, her voice strangled again for entirely different reasons as a breathy sigh gusts between her legs. 

Lips follow, along her inner thigh. “The mirror, Pearl. Are you pink as a rose? I love the way you glow when I touch you…”

“Please,” she whines, mortified and now sharply, painfully aroused. She looks; what else can she do? She is pink from her head down to her neckline, her arms thrown behind her to grasp the bedcovers. She can almost see the racing pulse in her neck, can feel the heavy throb of want between her legs. She’s watching her own face when Penelope’s tongue touches her, sees her mouth fall open on a strangled moan. 

With assiduous application of lips and teeth and tongue she’s devoured; with mesmerised fascination she watches her reflection fall apart. Penelope’s hands grip her thighs, eager, and her head tips back so far she has to look down her long nose at the mirror, the other Pearl, panting, shocked, knees wide and chest heaving. The Beautiful Pearl, starting to sweat into her lover’s underthings, her lover who will be her wife oh stars— 

Penelope moans, low and resonant, and Pearl echoes it unseemly loud in the night-quiet room. Trembling, her hand finds the shape of Penelope’s head through the skirts, cradles it, somehow obscene in the mirror. “Please, love,” she rasps, watching her own throat move, “just a little more—”

One of Penelope’s hands leaves her skin, and a moment later she muffles a whine between Pearl’s thighs and Pearl has to see—urgently she tugs her skirts up and in the reflection finds Penelope’s narrow back, her nightdress hiked high enough to show the whole length of her thighs, her arm curving down, working, her hips twitching. Touching herself, while her tongue and her little bird-cries set Pearl aflame. Fitfully Pearl strokes the back of her head, her soft hair, her neck, the fire rising, rising—

“Yes,” she rasps as the Beautiful Pearl’s brows furrow and her eyelids droop, “yes, ah, ah!” She finally loses sight of herself as her eyes squeeze shut and light bursts like sunrise behind her eyelids, heat tearing through her in waves and the pulsing of Penelope’s tongue pushing her through it. A groan squeezes out between her teeth, low and indelicate; Penelope answers with a trembly cry and a little stutter of “oh oh oh oh OH” that makes Pearl’s eyes pop open again.

In the mirror Penelope’s hips curl into her hand, frenetic; she turns her face into Pearl’s thigh to muffle a squeal. Pearl watches, panting, as her twitching movements slow; as she wipes her slick fingers along her own thigh. Then she pulls back, flushed and flyaway, and clambers up into Pearl’s lap as they flop back onto the bed. “Oh,” she sighs, going limp as a doll in Pearl’s arms; Pearl’s feeling spent herself, but she strokes the wild wisps of Penelope’s hair out of her face. 

“Are you all right, My Lady?” 

A smeared kiss; an affirmative hum. “I can’t wait to be married to you.”

“At this rate there won’t be anything new or surprising about it,” Pearl tells her, a tease, and gets a giggle in return.

“That’s just a taste,” Penelope murmurs blearily into her neck. “I want to worship you. Top to bottom. No patch of skin will escape my adoration.”

“Ah, but it’s for me to worship you, My Lady,” Pearl murmurs into her ear. “To spoil you so thoroughly and love you so well, we won’t leave our marriage bed for days.”

“Pearl,” she whines, squirming. “Pearl, that’s...touch me…”

“You’re exhausted, my love.”

“I want you.”

Pearl rolls a little awkwardly, deposits Penelope onto the bed and turns her back. “Undo these laces so I might change, and then I’ll tuck you in.”

“Pearl,” Penelope pouts, but acquiesces; slow, as slow as Pearl’s heated imaginings, but it’s lassitude that makes it so.

At last she sits up to wriggle free; Penelope’s fingers pick at the corset laces next, and soon enough Pearl’s bare again but for the gems in her hair and around her neck. When she rises to cross to the jewel box on the vanity, Penelope gives a drowsy moan. “You’re so lovely, Pearl...your guard shift is long over, please come to bed with me.”

“In a moment.” She catches sight, as she moves, of the Beautiful Pearl—naked and scarred and draped with creamy pearls, then back again adorned only in the scars as she searches the pile of discarded garments for her braes. Behind her Penelope’s curled up on the bed, her eye glittering in the low light, following her. Somehow it’s still her, there in the mirror—some magic combination of pleasure and the middle of the night renders every flash of her reflection as beautiful as before. 

At last she tugs back the heavy blankets, lifts Penelope in her arms to coddle her beneath them; her Lady shifts, making herself comfortable, and reaches for her. “Please.”

“To sleep,” Pearl tells her, climbing in and drawing the bed curtains closed around them.

Penelope nestles into her arms for a soft kiss, honey sweet; with sleepy insistence she takes Pearl’s hand in her own, draws it down between her legs, still warm and dewy from their exertions. “This will help me sleep.”

“Is that so?” Pearl asks, unconvinced, but she can’t resist when Penelope’s eye pleads so gently, when her hand presses Pearl’s where she wants it and traps it here.

“Just a little bit—mmm.” She breathes out her satisfaction on a sigh. “Like that.” With gently circling fingers, Pearl obeys. The room quiets to just the low crackle of the fire and Penelope’s sleepy-soft moans. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” Penelope says, tilting her body closer. Her hand draws lazily up Pearl’s body, settles on her chest to stroke the tender skin of her breasts, her nipples slowly peaking under the attention. “Mine to touch. Mine to have.”

“I could say the same,” Pearl murmurs, kissing her scarred eye. She gives a firmer press when Penelope rocks into her hand, gets a breathy little “yes” in reward. “Mine to love. To guard. I don’t need a wedding to know I’ll be at your side forever.”

“Love—”

“But I’ll be glad to have one. To show the whole kingdom my love. To kiss you, and know that the body beneath your gown, the heart racing in your chest, are mine to care for.”

Penelope hides her face in the side of Pearl’s neck, shudders and clutches at her; when it passes her limbs all go loose. “Forever,” she murmurs as Pearl’s hand slides away, up her hip to curl around her back. 

“Forever,” Pearl assures her, but she’s already asleep.


End file.
